“…I—I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” she stammered, tears carving hot tracks down her cheeks. “I’m not the one who hit him. That’s not what I did. Your brother was trying to bury someone alive when—” “And what of it?” the man asked, flicking the ash from his cigar. “He doesn’t like to be interrupted.” The man in the cold, silver-rimmed glasses looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, his face smooth and unlined, utterly devoid of warmth. “It wasn’t me, it was—it was someone else. The man who was being buried, he suddenly hit him with a stone. I didn’t push him down. I swear. What I did was just self-defense, but—” The words tumbled out, a frantic, desperate dam against the terror threatening to break her. It was all she could do. “My brother has sharp ears,” the man said, his voice laced with disbelief. “He’s not so stupid or unobservant as to let a man sneak up on him.” “B-but…” Ji-woo was at a loss. She could feel her future crumbling, her life grinding to a halt, and all because she couldn't convince this man. There were no witnesses, no evidence to prove she had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She wanted to demand to know where she was, who this man was, but a single, primal thought drowned out all others: I need to get out of here safely. A constant, rhythmic thump-thump-thump echoed from a nearby oil drum, each beat a hammer blow against Ji-woo’s fraying nerves. “Then are you his accomplice?” the man asked. “The accomplice of the man who struck my brother?” “Wh-What? Accomplice? I don’t even know the man!” she cried out. Her desperation was a tangible thing in the air between them, yet he remained utterly indifferent, as relaxed as if he were discussing a dinner reservation. “Listen, Ji-woo. I don’t care who you are.” He crouched down, bringing himself to her level, his eyes boring into hers. “I watched my brother fall into a coma. All that matters to me now is that someone pays for it. That’s all.” Coma. That monster was in a coma? “Whether you hit him with that stone or not is of no real importance to me,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “Instead, let’s make a deal. If you’re smart, you’ll walk out of here in one piece.” “A deal?” she whispered, the words catching in her throat. “Yes. A deal.” The man ground out his cigar in what looked like a takeout box of raw meat, the casual depravity of the act making Ji-woo’s stomach clench. “Catch the real culprit and bring him to me. Until then, you will take care of my brother.” He cut her restraints and forced a pen into her hand, making her sign a contract she couldn’t even read through her tears. As he turned to leave, he paused at the door. “And Ji-woo… don’t let him leave Cheongdo.” The last thing she remembered was the thumping from the drum fading into the distance as it was dragged away. <Flashback end> He was gone. The room was dark, the only light a pale wash of moonlight filtering through the window, glinting off the silent medical equipment. Where—where did he go? The fear she had managed to suppress since that night erupted anew, coiling in her gut. She could almost smell the metallic tang of the air in that warehouse, feel the chill seeping into her bones. His brother’s words echoed in her head. “While you were sleeping, I pondered whether I should simply tear you apart, or put you in a drum with cement and throw it into the sea. I really hope I can make someone pay for my brother’s state.” A violent tremor wracked Ji-woo’s body. That man would kill her if he found out. I have to find him, she thought, forcing herself to take a shaky breath. She turned, and a shadow detached itself from the frame of the door, startling a scream from her lungs. It was an ambush. The man, who had been hiding behind the door, lunged, shoving her hard. A nearby medical stand crashed to the floor with a deafening bang. But a man who had been comatose for two years couldn't move with any grace. His legs buckled, and he staggered, but he used his momentum, twisting her around and using her body to break his fall as they crashed onto the bed together. Her cheek was smashed against the mattress. She thrashed beneath his dead weight, her arms and legs useless. For someone fresh from a coma, his strength was terrifying. He wrenched her arms behind her back, pinning them with one hand while his legs scissored around hers, trapping her completely. She could feel the hard planes of his body through her thin pajamas, a suffocating, unwelcome heat. A new wave of terror, sharper and more sickening than any before, washed over her as she felt the rigid pressure of his erection against her.

Chapter 5: He Doesn't Like Interruption